Page 31 of The Playmaker
I force a smile. "None of the above."
Dan puts a hand on his heart. "Smart girl. I wish I could go back in time and do things differently." He seems sincere but I catch his eye roaming around the room. It ticks me off. I bet his wife is back home with the kids behaving herself while he's eyeing everything in here with double Ds under the age of twenty five.
"How long you been with your wife?" I ask, unable to keep the edge from my voice.
"Long enough." He takes a swallow of his beer. "I love her with all my heart." That sounds like mockery.
Sam nudges me with his arm. "You know who really has it good?" He winks at me. "The players. Damn. I've seen men kiss their wives goodbye with saintly loyalty at the start of a road trip only to slip their ring off at the club after a win. No one cares. No one nags them. They're not even expected to be faithful."
"To each their own." I don't judge anyone other than myself. But still, this is the part of athlete culture that tore my family apart when my dad walked out. It hurts. A lot. It's the reason I became a journalist—to expose the ugly truth behind the glamour.
I start to wonder what kind of "club" the guys are in tonight, and if I've been more than a little stupid hooking up with the nation's most popular wide receiver. My appetite for a good time lost, I start to make my way out of the place, intent on getting an Uber back to the hotel.
On the way out, I see a few of the dancers just arriving. Not the blonde Jax was rumored to have hooked up with.
"Oh my God, Giselle always gets asked to go clubbing with the guys. It's so unfair," one girl whines as they survey the upscale bar.
"I bet the rumors of her and Jax are totally true." The other girl tosses her brown hair over her shoulder. "She did say she was going clubbing with him and the guys tonight."
My stomach twists into a painful knot. The rational part ofmy brain reminds me I have no claim on him, but my heart doesn't seem to care about rationality. Jaxon has been minding his business since that first night in LA, and I thought it was just so he could perform well on the field. I didn't know it could be because he'd had his fun with me and now...I feel sick. I feel used. I feel incredibly stupid.
In a world of fame, power, and privilege, it would be unreasonable to expect anyone to behave in moderate ways. I remember all too well now why I don't trust athletes. I somberly get in my Uber and ride back to the hotel, watching the city lights blur through the window like the boundaries I promised myself I'd never cross again.
"Fun night?" Dan asks me. "I noticed you left early."
"Just went back to the hotel." We're standing in the little line that forms outside the jet once the players are on board.
"Meh. Same. Look. I know you heard us say a lot last night but...it was just that. Talk. Got it?"
I nod, thinking he's worried I'm going to write about him in a story or something. Everyone thinks their life is the most important one in the world; I've learned that the hard way in this line of work.
We board the plane and I see an empty seat across from Jax again. His eyes meet mine and something flickers there—not eager, not resistant, not smoldering. Just... guarded. Like he's built a wall overnight that matches my own. I stop by his seat, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"I heard from Ann...I have a few questions for you, if you don't mind?" I say feebly, anxiety building up. Ugh! This is exactly why hooking up with someone you have to work with is dumb. It makes everything awkward.
"Of course. Please, sit."
His ultra politeness rakes against my nerves like nails on achalkboard. I definitely can't stand this guy all over again. The cool professionalism is worse than anger—it's indifference, and it cuts deeper than I expected.
I sit and pull out my tablet. "Thank you." I match him vibe for vibe. "The first draft I've been working on all week is approved. But still missing details." I look at him as he looks at his phone. Rude. "It's for the web series."
"Right."
Fine. He wants to be terse, then I'll get straight to the point. "It's about your upbringing."
He isn't aware how much time I spent trying to find what is not findable online. Anything about his early years or his parents—all scrubbed from the internet. I know Riley isn't any of the newer flings he's been speculated to be with. But maybe Riley is an older fling, part of the past he's paid top dollar, I bet, to make disappear.
He shrugs, looking at me. Still, his gaze isn't cold or anything. It's perfectly professional...so why does that hurt so much? I swallow hard, trying to get a grip on emotions I shouldn't be feeling.
"I couldn't find anything, well, interesting, I guess about it. Just that you were raised in private schools, were an all star in high school football, and that you were drafted young into the NFL. And that you lost your parents. But no details or anything."
"I don't think you need any more than that. It all sounds adequate."
"Yes, it is, but it's also already been said before. By everyone from the Kansas Star quarterly magazine to ESPN." I bite back frustration. "Is there anything else you want to tell me that is a bit deeper than all that?"
"If I wasn't willing to tell ESPN anything deeper, why do you think I'll tell you?"
I look for signs of anger but all I get from him is an honest look that cuts straight through me. Wow. He really meansthat, doesn't he? I mean, it's a great point. But it feels like a knife to the heart after everything we shared...right?
